Not Who You Are Underneath
by storyspinners
Summary: "There was a time, when Dick believed that the suit would not have fit him if he put it on." AU set after Complications.


AN: I have no idea what I wrote

* * *

_**~Not Who You Are Underneath~**_

xXx

There was a time when Dick believed that the suit would not have fit him if he put it on. He'd say with certainty, that the amour was too clunky and bulky in shape, the cape too long, large and weighed down.

That the cowl was too heavy.

This, however, wasn't one of the suits pulled from Bruce's collection. This was a different one, one that was tailored specifically for Dick, designed to be lighter, faster, more fluid in it's range of motion. It wasn't as hard as some might think to reconstruct a new suit. Over the years, Bruce had created, set up, altered, and destroy quite a few of them.

Down in the cave, laid out on the table before him, Dick eyed parts and pieces of it as he put them on. The kevlar thread and carbon armor plating was still lightweight; the same flexible, durable material as he'd always worn before. The same, except there was no blue across _this_ chest plate.

The gloves held the same jointed armor and the same hidden in-seam with lock pick, but now there were triangular fins lining one side of each arm. Dick had seen Bruce use them several times to block against a sword or knife, though they could also be released and shot out in a similar way to shurikens. Also, electrical shockers ran through the gloves' fingertips; it was how he was going to be able to control the structure of the cape.

Dick wasn't overly fond of capes. At least this one was lighter, reduced in weight and though that meant sacrificing some protection against bullets or fire, it also meant he could move easier with it on.

As he locked several different straps and clasps into place, words rang through the back of his mind, angry and indignant.

_This wasn't part of the plan._

He ignored it. He couldn't be distracted by doubts. Not now. It didn't help that those words sounded vaguely like his own voice. It spoke at him with memories from the past; days long gone, back when things were simpler, easier. When it was just him and Bruce and Alfred and the criminals of Gotham.A conscience maybe; whispering truths he refused to acknowledge.

The real truth was that they were losing this war. Everything they'd done, everything they'd planned, that he'd planned, was breaking apart at the seams. Lies built on top of more lies as they spiraled too high, tipping over and crumbling down piece by piece until he couldn't see the way out anymore.

He snapped the belt together with a click, securing it around his waist. There were a few different compartments, full of slightly different weapons. There were more of them as well and it was going to take Dick a few tries to memorize the location of each item.

But it fit.

_And what?, _that same voice said._ Putting on a different suit will somehow make you a better fighter? If you put on a different mask you'll suddenly become stronger?_

There were different types of strength. Sometimes, you have to do what is necessary in order to do what's right. To take a stand and make the choices no one else will.

The way _Nightwing_ had set things up, they weren't _working_.

The world needed something _more._

He remembered on one trip, back when he was much younger, he and Bruce had traveled to a city he never learned the name of for an event he hadn't paid much attention to. There had been one quirky old man who Dick had sat beside in the hall. Alfred told him it was rude to ignore people when they were talking, so Dick listened to the man regale him with old stories and words of advice. He'd pulled the young boy close and said, "Things happen in so many different ways, but no matter how bad they get, everything turns out fine in the end. Don't you worry about that my boy."

Dick just smiled.

Everything was going to be fine. That's what his parents had said on their way to Gotham, when their tricks were going to be faster, higher, more dangerous.

It's what Jason had said before the mission that pitted them against the Joker.

What Tim and Babs had assured him before taking flight and heading off to the Warworld...

Dick clenched his fist, his knuckles pressing down hard into the metal of the table top as his shoulders shook with rage. He felt a slight give in the metal and he relished the feel of it bending, cracking.

Breaking.

Only when he heard faint footsteps working their way down into the cave did Dick take a step back, unclenching his hand from the dent he'd made and mentally shaking himself. Focus. It was one of Bruce's first lessons to all of them and Dick couldn't afford to lose it.

That anger didn't fade away. Instead he held onto it, let it coil and collect like cold fire in the pit of his stomach. It was a feeling he understood, but rarely allowed himself to sink into, never allowed it show.

He'd thought he knew the next move; always looking two steps ahead, anticipating everything. They pushed and Dick pushed back harder; digging through the lies and manipulation, but it was like chipping away a solid rock with bare hands. The game had changed. Their enemies were playing by different rules. This wasn't just another mission. The entire world was at stake. It was his team, his _family_.

_How are you supposed to save them if you lose yourself in the process._

When Dick turned, Alfred stood beside him, perfectly composed, still, and solid. The turn of a frown across his mouth and the hard line of his jaw were the only signs betraying his worry. It was a look, not quite born of pity, but something sadder, more serious. It flickered across his face for a moment, there and gone again in half a second, but still one that provoked a sliver of guilt and doubt to snake its way into Dick's chest and left a sad, bitter taste at the back of his throat.

It was a look he'd seen Alfred give to Bruce once before.

"Will you be needing anything, sir?" Alfred said seriously.

Glancing away, Dick turned to leave. The fall of his boots were relatively quiet; lightweight rubber blending into the slight noises of the cave as Dick strode towards the Batmobile. The thud of each step on the concrete floor only echoed in Dick's ears.

"No. I'm fine."

_What does that word even mean anymore._

He pulled the cowl over his head, down around his face. He watched the cave flicker into sharper focus through the shifting lens, the dark shadows lining the walls becoming clearer.

Once he found his team, once everyone was safe and his family was _safe_, then everything would be fine. He could fix this, fix his mistakes and stop the REACH before it was too late.

Dick had gotten them into this mess and he was going to get them out of it. One way or another.

After all...

He was Batman.

xXx

* * *

"_The bandit, in the forest in Burma, did you catch him?"_

"_Yes"_

"_How?"_

"_We burned the forest down."_


End file.
